


The Nanny

by Archetype_ElectraHeart



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chatting & Messaging, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, Slow Build, Some angst, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archetype_ElectraHeart/pseuds/Archetype_ElectraHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne Tarth takes a job as Tommen and Myrcella Baratheon's nanny when Tyrion and Jaime are granted joint custody. Modern AU, set in New York City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I would post the first chapter of my new AU in honor of JB Appreciation Week! (which has been so awesome and I am overwhelmed by the sheer FEELS. this fandom is awesome)
> 
> Some housekeeping: this is a modern AU, set in New York City. Selwyn Tarth owns a fine antiques shop called Evenstar Antiques. The Lannister family heads Casterly - a fine jewelry company vaguely modeled after Cartier. Cersei has just been sent to prison for poisoning Robert, which is why Jaime and Tyrion have shared custody of the kids.
> 
> More of this will become clear in the story, but I wanted to orient you at least a little bit going in.

“Miss Tarth! Please, sit down.” 

She had known that the youngest Lannister sibling was a dwarf, but hadn’t been forewarned about his mismatched eyes —one green, one black— which lent him an air of simultaneous mischief and wisdom. She liked him instantly. 

Brienne had been raised with a certain affection for charming oddities.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lannister.” She folded her long legs under the small chair on her side of his desk, nervously pulling out the creases in her pants.

“Please, call me Tyrion. My father always insists that people call him Mr. Lannister, and I find I dislike being reminded of him quite so often.”

“Tyrion, then.”

He nodded in approval and looked down at a sheaf of papers in front of him, her resumé on the top. “You do realize that you applied for a position as my niece and nephew’s nanny, and not for a position at Casterly, correct?”

“I am aware, yes.”

He tilted his head and looked at her appraisingly. “You are, by most accounts, simultaneously under- and overqualified for the job.”

“The posting said that applicants had to have a college education.”

“And you just graduated with a dual Bachelor’s and Master’s in Art History.”

“You also requested proficiency with a foreign language.”

“I was expecting Spanish, frankly. And you are nearly fluent in Italian and have some conversational French. You’ve had several impressive internships at museums around the city.”

“All of which were unpaid.”

“Miss Tarth, you are not going to convince me that you couldn’t find a paying job somewhere in this city that would make better use of your considerable accomplishments.” He leaned forward on his elbows, regarded her with those mismatched eyes. “Why do you actually want this job?”

“If I have to address you informally, please call me Brienne.” She leaned back in her seat. “The truth is, I have spent the better part of the past five and a half years holed up in libraries and hunched over desks and fetching coffee and making photocopies for free. I have worked hard to get that resumé, and those grades, and I'm very proud of them. But at this point, I need a break.”

“And you think you’ll get it by being responsible for two children all day?”

“Last I checked, nannies don’t have exams or research papers to complete. I won’t have to wear business casual everyday. And I’ll get a paycheck, which will be a novel and terribly exciting thing for me.”

“Well, I can’t very well argue with any of those points. But do you have _any_ experience working with children? You’ve certainly never been a nanny.”

“During my internship at the Met, I ran a few children’s tours. School groups and the like.”

“Do you have siblings, Brienne?”

“No biological siblings, no.”

“Through marriage?”

Brienne shook her head. “Through boarding school.”

Tyrion laughed. “You too? Where did you go?”

“Maidenpool, out in Connecticut.”

He nodded in recognition. “My brother and I were sent to Crakehall. Cersei went to Maidenpool back in her day.”

Brienne knew that the children were Cersei’s and that Tyrion and his brother had been granted shared custody of them recently when she was sent to prison for murdering her husband. Both Lannister brothers were bachelors, and both worked for Casterly, so it was hardly surprising that they needed a nanny.

There was a long pause where he just looked at her, and she had to resist the urge to squirm or bite her nails. “God, how Cersei would have hated you.”

The comment stung, briefly, before she registered the kindly tone he had delivered it with. “Is that...a bad thing?”

He laughed again. She got the feeling Tyrion Lannister laughed a lot. “It is a _wonderful_ thing as far as I’m concerned.” He leaned back in chair and stared at her, arms crossed, almost as though he were waiting for something. “Well, Brienne, I believe I only have one more question for you.”

“Fire away, sir.”

“Are you allergic to cats?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike Living Fiction, this fic has a less regimented timeline/plot so if you want to drop a prompt in the comments, feel free! I'm going to try to incorporate some as we go along.
> 
> Also those of you with kids who can help me keep Tommen and Myrcella sounding like a 4 year old and a 6 year old, your comments are _definitely_ welcome. They'll start appearing in Chapter 2.


	2. The Call-Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne meets Myrcella and Tommen.

Brienne had been waiting to hear back from Tyrion Lannister for three days when her phone finally rang.

“Hello?”

“Miss Tarth! It’s Tyrion Lannister. How are you?”

“I’m doing well, Tyrion. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I was wondering if you’re still interested in the position, first of all. Have you come to your senses yet?”

“Apparently not. I am still interested.”

“In that case, I think the next step is for you to meet Tommen and Myrcella, make sure that you all get along.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“…there may be something that I didn’t mention to you before, that could change your mind…”

“Which is?”

“It’s Tommen. He hasn’t really spoken since his mother…was taken away.”

Brienne suddenly stopped pacing around her room. “You mean he hasn’t talked at all?”

“Very little.”

“Have you tried anything?”

“Tommen has always loved cats, so I thought that if we took him to the shelter and let him adopt one that it might help bring him out of his shell. And I think he does talk to the cat, but only rarely, and never when anyone else is around. That seems to be about it.”

Brienne sighed. “I’m not a child psychologist, Tyrion. Have you thought about taking him to see someone? A professional?”

“I’m afraid father isn’t amenable to the idea of putting a child in therapy, especially so quickly. He’s convinced that it’s just a phase, that it will pass…at this point it doesn't seem worth earning his ire. If it continues on for much longer, I'm going to look into it.”

Brienne thought for a moment. It didn't sound like Tommen was acting out, or hostile. And God knows, she had been rather reticent after her mother died. “How about I go ahead and meet both kids, see what my gut says. If I think it will be an issue, I’ll let you know.”

She thought she heard Tyrion's relieved exhale. “In that case, what are you doing tomorrow morning?”

“You tell me.”

“Breakfast at the Carnegie Deli. 9 am.”

“I’ll be there.”

 

 

 

The Baratheon children looked like angels from a Renaissance painting.

Smooth porcelain skin, blonde curls, bright eyes, rosebud mouths. If not for Tyrion standing next to them and the grey landscape of a January New York day behind them, Brienne would have sworn she had stumbled into a Botticelli.

Tyrion said hello before presenting her to the children. “Myrcella, Tommen, this is Brienne.”

Brienne felt like a giant, with even Tyrion failing to break five feet tall, so she squatted down to shake their hands. “It’s very nice to meet you both.”

Myrcella smiled, megawatt and sweet, and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Hello, Miss Brienne!”

Tommen tilted his head to one side and eyed her carefully. His eyes were blue where Myrcella’s were green, and large and somber. 

After a few seconds of scrutiny, Brienne decided to break the silence. “Are you guys hungry? Because I’ve got to tell you, I am starving.”

Tommen finally gave her a small, shy smile and took her hand to follow her into the deli, Myrcella bouncing along behind with her Uncle Tyrion.

“You’re very tall, Miss Brienne.”

“Yes, I am.”

“My Uncle Jaime is tall, too. Uncle Tyrion, who do you think is taller?”

“I dare say they are roughly the same height, Myrcella. But we can put that to the test when your Uncle Jaime comes back.”

Brienne turned around to glance at Tyrion. “Back from where?”

“My hardworking and dedicated brother is currently in Switzerland on business.”

Brienne raised an eyebrow at his sarcastic tone, but he waived her off. She helped Tommen take off his mittens and heavy winter coat, shoving the mittens into his pockets in the hopes they wouldn’t lose one (or both) on their way out. She had several orphaned gloves in her apartment from a lifetime of New York winters spent running in and out of restaurants and libraries and museums, perpetually in a hurry, too careless to pay any heed to the fate of a glove when there were things to see and do. 

 

They sat down at the table, having been ushered and abandoned at high speed by the hostess, and arranged themselves with the adults on one side and the children on the other. The menu was huge, encyclopedic, with an emphasis on corned beef and pastrami. 

“What are you getting, Uncle Tyrion?”

“Well, Myrcella, I think I will stick to the pastrami hash. Why mess with a good thing?” He closed the menu and looked at her over steepled fingers. “I am assuming that you are going to order french toast, as you do every time we go out for breakfast.”

“It’s good!” She dropped her comically offended expression and turned to Brienne. “What about you, Miss Brienne?”

“Well, I love the blintzes here— they’re the best I’ve ever had. But it’s so much food...What about you, Tommen?”

He shrugged. 

“Would you share the blintzes with me? If you don’t like them, I promise we can find you something else. But I _cannot_ finish them by myself. I tried once, and it wasn’t pretty.”

Tommen nodded eagerly, and Brienne noticed a little spark in his eyes that caught her attention. _He wants to be useful, maybe?_ His entire life had been upturned— more so than Myrcella, who at least still had kindergarten as a stable presence from before to after. But before he lost his parents, Tommen had spent his days at home with his mother or with another nanny, and was suddenly moved to a new house to live with his uncles…

Myrcella was as effusive and chatty as Tommen was silent. Brienne had heard all about the members of her kindergarten class, the teachers at school, their old nanny, and even her favorite band before their food even arrived.

Brienne transferred one of the blintzes onto Tommen’s plate, carefully settling the bowls of sour cream and applesauce in between them, explaining what they were for when Tommen eyed them suspiciously. She cut off a section of blintz for Myrcella to try, much to the girl’s delight, causing her in turn to plop an entire slice of french toast onto Brienne’s plate.

“So, Tyrion tells me that you have a cat?”

Myrcella nodded enthusiastically, curls bouncing. “His name is Ser Pounce!”

That…was a peculiar name. “So do you call him Ser Pounce all the time? Or just Ser? Or Pounce?”

Tyrion grimaced. “All of the above.”

“Do you like cats, Miss Brienne?”

Brienne tried to swallow her bite of blintz so quickly, she nearly choked. “Yes. I do like cats. I grew up with them, actually.”

Myrcella wrinkled her brow. “I wanted a dog. But Uncle Tyrion told me a dog would be too much work, and Tommen has always wanted a cat, ever since a stray walked up to him one time in the park.”

“Dogs are a lot of work. Especially living in the city, because you can’t just let them out, you have to actually take them on walks a bunch of times a day. They need a lot of exercise, usually.”

Myrcella nodded sagely. “And they drool. Ser Pounce doesn’t drool.”

Tyrion nearly snorted into his hash. “I’m sure Miss Brienne is terribly relieved to hear that.”

 

 

 

 

Brienne and Tyrion sat on a park bench while Tommen and Myrcella clambered around the wooden castle on the playground. 

“How are you holding up?”

“Me? Why do you ask?”

Brienne nearly rolled her eyes. “Your sister was just sent to jail for poisoning her husband and you are suddenly responsible for the lives of two children. Your brother, who is supposed to help you care for the children, is in Switzerland. You work full-time for a major corporation. Am I missing anything?”

“I have also been searching for a nanny. But I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you that you’re hired.”

“Thank you. But that still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Put one foot in front of the other. Repeat.”

“Is your brother really in Switzerland on business?”

Myrcella was now leading Tommen over to the swings.

“Technically, yes.”

“Technically?”

“Technically there was a deal to be struck in Switzerland. Did Jaime need to be there personally? No. Does it guarantee the results that father wants? Yes. Could the deal have waited a few more weeks? Yes. Does this keep father happy by getting it done in the timeline he wants? Yes.”

“So?”

“So what?”

Brienne sighed. “What is the part that you _aren’t_ saying?”

He rolled his eyes. “This skill of yours should prove tremendously useful in communicating with Tommen, but it can be annoying.”

Brienne smirked. “So I’ve been told.”

He laughed. “Fine; you win. Jaime could have done this deal and been back in a couple of days. But he’s already planned on being gone for at least two weeks.”

“Let me guess. Your brother hasn’t helped at all with the nanny search.”

“He told me to take care of it myself. As long as I didn’t hire a felon, it didn’t matter to him.”

“So misdemeanors are acceptable?”

“You haven’t committed a misdemeanor.”

“True. I was just curious.”

He settled back on the bench and sighed, his short legs dangling above the sidewalk like a child’s. “To be fair, Cersei and I never got along. Even as children, we didn’t like each other. And as horrible as it will probably sound to you, we never loved each other. But Cersei and Jaime— they were inseparable as children—everyone said it was because they were twins. They had a falling out years ago, but they still loved each other, even with all the fighting. This whole ordeal has been a lot harder on him. So can I really blame him for needing to get away?”

The kids were swinging in tandem now, Myrcella holding an arm out to keep a grip on the chain of Tommen’s swing. Their cheeks and noses were pink from the cold, but they were both grinning widely. Myrcella laughed, her curls wildly streaming out behind her.

“They’re good kids.”

Tyrion clapped a small hand to her shoulder. “Not that I’m disagreeing with you, but we’ll see how you feel once you’re spending all your time with them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Carnegie Deli is a real restaurant in New York which occasionally gets a bad reputation as a tourist trap, but their blintzes really are out of this world. Also, I once had breakfast there and a group of fifteen NYPD officers were next to me, and one of them actually got on a ladder to help the owner change a lightbulb, so there's that.


	3. Margaery Tyrell Wants Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery tries to get some answers out of Brienne over breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The Tyrells in this AU are roughly equivalent to the Lauder family, so they are in the cosmetics and perfume industry. Bellevue is the famous (infamous?) psychiatric ward in New York City.

“Really, Marge, no one batted an eye all those years I was working the modern equivalent of slave labor at unpaid internships, but now that I have a job where I actually get paid it’s taboo.”

Margaery rolled her eyes. “Brienne, even you have to admit there’s a slight difference in telling people you have an internship at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and telling people you’re a nanny. Why are you doing this anyway?"

Brienne sighed and dragged her fork through a puddle of syrup in the corner of her plate. "I have to decide whether or not to get my PhD. But whether or not I get my PhD depends on whether I choose to work at the family business full-time for the rest of my life or if I just want to take it over when Dad decides to retire, and do something else in the meantime. Also, if I attempted to get my PhD right now I would probably need to be committed to Bellevue within six months.”

"I don't see how being a nanny solves that conundrum."

"I need some space, I guess. Some mental space, by not living in the library and drowning in research all the time. But also, I just need to be away from Dad and Evenstar and see what it's like to work for someone else. And at least this way I'll get paid, save up some money of my own." She noticed the tightening around Margaery’s mouth, the way she wrinkled her nose. “Why is it that the wealthy always act like it’s so distasteful to talk about money?”

Rather than answer her, Margaery shoveled a forkful of waffle into her mouth. “How did you find this job anyway?”

“Renly mentioned it when he came into the shop a few weeks ago.”

“Why was Renly in the shop?”

“He needed an anniversary present for Loras. He came in looking for cufflinks.”

“What is it with that man and cufflinks?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Well, since Loras hasn’t complained to me about Renly buying him a sixth pair, what did you talk him into?”

“How do you know it was me? It could have been Goodwin. Or Dad.”

“Everyone knows you’re in charge of the shiny stuff. And anything involving Renly.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “True. I may have pointed him in the direction of an art deco business card holder.”

“Silver? With green and black enamel?”

“That’s the one.”

“Loras was gushing about it at dinner last week. Good work.”

Brienne shrugged. “I try.”

“So wait—why did Renly know about somebody in need of a nanny?” Margaery’s eyes suddenly widened and she dropped her fork. “Don’t tell me…”

“Myrcella and Tommen are his niece and nephew too.”

“You're working for the Lannisters?!”

Brienne shushed her. “Keep your voice down.”

Margaery let out a low whistle. “That must be a pretty impressive paycheck.”

“Pretty impressive address too, since I’ll be living with them. How am I supposed to turn down the chance to live in a mansion off of Central Park? A historic house, filled with fine antiques, really close to the Met and the Frick and the Guggenheim…”

“Yes, yes, I know. The Evenstar’s daughter couldn’t possibly turn down the opportunity to use an authentic nineteenth century British secretary on a daily basis.”

Brienne pretended to smack Marge on the arm. “Look, you have high cosmetics standards. I have high decorative arts standards. We neither of us can help it.”

“Very true. Also true, both Lannister brothers are considered very eligible bachelors. Although Tyrion Lannister’s height would likely prove a logistical problem for you.”

“You are ridiculous.”

Marge smiled wickedly. “Nope, just well informed.” 

Brienne raised an eyebrow and took a bite of her chocolate chip pancakes. 

“So have you met them yet?”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, all of them! The kids, the Lannister brothers. I still don’t understand how they ended up with custody over Renly or Stannis.”

“A. Yes, I met the kids. B. I met Tyrion, but not Jaime, because he is apparently out of the country on business. C. Renly didn’t get custody because he’s not married, and gay, and has charges for public intoxication, public nudity, and assault on an officer on his record.”

“You drunkenly pee on a police officer one time and your life is basically over.”

“I still can’t believe he did that.”

Margaery shook her head. “Absinthe. That shit is no joke.”

Brienne raised an eyebrow. “Anyways. Stannis didn’t get custody because the kids don’t like him, and he's divorced and was still working out custody agreements with Selyse.”

“No doubt Stannis would have ensured they develop an infallible grasp of the English language, but he is kind of a prick.”

“Marge!”

“Do you have any idea how many times he corrected my grammar when he came to dinner over Christmas? I had downed three glasses of wine, and I mistakenly said ‘who’ instead of ‘whom’. And he actually pointed it out.”

“He’s an English professor. What else do you expect?”

“A little common decency. God.” She speared a piece of her waffle and chewed it slowly. “Maybe you should introduce me to the shorter Lannister. It might work. And then we could end up being sisters by marriage.”

Brienne nearly choked for the second time that week. Breakfast was suddenly seeming a lot more dangerous than she had ever realized. “You are literally insane. I haven’t even met the other one. And you’ve never met either of them!”

“Semantics, darling.”

Brienne dropped her head into her hands.

“Oh, come on. I was teasing. So, when do you move in?”

“Two days from now. Speaking of which…”

“Oh no you don’t.”

“Please, Marge? I need help boxing all my stuff.”

“I just got a manicure.”

“Like you couldn’t afford to get another one. I promise you don’t even have to do manual labor. You can fold things and amuse me. You can control the music playlist. You can tease me mercilessly.”

Margaery pursed her lips. “Those are a few of my specialties.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”


	4. Jaime Wants Answers, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you mean you hired someone already?”

“What do you mean you hired someone already?”

“Jaime, when you left for Switzerland, leaving me to deal with Tommen and Myrcella alone, you said— and I quote, “Do what you have to do. I don’t care. Just as long it isn’t some felon or a cranky old woman.”

“I didn’t think you’d find someone this quickly.”

“I couldn’t very well take care of them on my own. Who did you think was going to stay home with Tommen all day? Who was going to make sure Myrcella made it to and from school?”

“School only just started back up!”

“Exactly! Jaime, the CFO can only telecommute effectively for so long.”

Tyrion could hear Jaime sigh on the other end of the line, picture him running a hand through his hair. “I get it. So who’s the new nanny?”

“Her name is Brienne. She’s about 24 years old. No criminal record. The kids like her.”

“They’re kids. They like everyone."

Tyrion snorted. “You and I both know that is not true.”

“Fair point."

“I like her. And we both know I am notoriously picky.”

“I'm not so sure I'm willing to count that as a good sign.”


	5. Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Tommen have a lot of free time. Solution: cookies.

Brienne and Tommen had just returned from their first joint attempt at dropping Myrcella off at kindergarten. Brienne had moved in the afternoon before, and spent most of the evening unpacking her clothes and books. Tommen still hadn’t said anything to her, although she had spotted him carrying around Ser Pounce before breakfast that morning. The cat was huge, nearly dwarfing Tommen’s small frame, but was seemingly content to be carted around for a few minutes before meowing loudly to demand he be put down.

But now they had hours to kill before Myrcella got out of class. _What do I normally do when I'm bored that is appropriate for a four year old?_

“Tommen?” He glanced up at her. “What do you say we make some cookies together? They can be a surprise for Myrcella and your Uncle Tyrion when they come home this afternoon.”

He nodded enthusiastically before running into the kitchen. 

“Woah, buddy, slow down. I need to see if we have all the right ingredients first!”

He followed her around as she searched through cabinets and peeked in the fridge. The fridge was nearly empty— a bottle of milk due to spoil any day, two eggs, several containers of chinese takeout, a hodgepodge of under- and over-ripe fruit. Tons of pre-made dinners in the freezer, several cartons of ice cream. Cans of soup, cereal, popcorn, peanut butter in the cupboard.

 

“Does no one in this house actually _cook_ food?”

Tommen giggled with his hand over his mouth and shook his head. 

Brienne ran a hand through her hair. “Okay, buddy. You and me, we are going to the grocery store and buying actual food. And ingredients to make cookies. Let’s grab your coat.”

 

 

 

Brienne was pushing a nearly full grocery cart through the store, keeping Tommen’s hand firmly in hers. She had seen too many TV shows where kids were snatched in stores because somebody stopped paying attention to them for ten seconds, and she was not about to lose a kid on her first full day as a nanny. If she could be trusted around priceless antiques and paintings she could sure as hell manage a four year old in a grocery store.

“Ok, Tommen. Let’s decide what kind of cookies we’re going to make. We need chocolate chips, right?” A nod. She grabbed a bag of chocolate chips and tossed them in the cart on top of the juice boxes. 

“My dad and I like pecans in our chocolate chip cookies. But we’ll only make _some_ with pecans, since I don’t know what Myrcella and Tyrion like.” Pecans plopped on top of a pack of ground turkey. 

Tommen pointed to a bag of dried cranberries. “You like dried cranberries in your cookies?” Another nod. “Me too! Actually, I like them in oatmeal too. Sometimes on their own as a snack.” 

She grabbed two bags and tossed them in the cart, then took Tommen’s hand to lead him to check-out.

_They do say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach…maybe the way to a boy’s heart is through his favorite snack foods?_

 

 

 

From: tyrion.lannister@casterly.com

To: jaime.lannister@casterly.com

Subject: the nanny

Bro. I came home to two dozen freshly baked cookies today.

Enjoy your loneliness in Switzerland.

 

 

 

From: jaime.lannister@casterly.com

To: tyrion.lannister@casterly.com

Subject: Re: the nanny

Fuck you.

For your information, I had dinner at a very nice, very expensive French restaurant last night.

Michelin rated. 

 

 

From: tyrion.lannister@casterly.com

To: jaime.lannister@casterly.com

Subject: Re: Re: the nanny

Yeah. _Alone._

She also bought groceries- real unprocessed food. That isn’t pre-cooked.

 

 

From: jaime.lannister@casterly.com

To: tyrion.lannister@casterly.com

Subject: Re: Re: Re: the nanny

Alright, I get it. You did good.

Now fuck off. I should be back in New York in a week or so.


	6. Brienne Has a Minor Breakdown over Bathtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Right. Tommen's bath. Because I have to bathe him, because he's four. I knew that." 
> 
> _I did not know that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably my favorite chapter to write so far. Hope you enjoy it!

"Miss Brienne?"

She glanced up from her book to see Myrcella staring at her, Tommen standing off the side. "Yes?"

"It's time for Tommen's bath."

_Tommen's bath._

"What?"

Myrcella tilted her head to the side. "It's time for you to give Tommen his bath."

"Right. Tommen's bath. Because I have to bathe him, because he's four. I knew that." 

_I did not know that._  

"Um, let's go then. Into the bathroom."

 

 

`Brienne: omg I didn't even realize I'm supposed to give Tommen baths`

`Brienne: I am a terrible nanny`

`Brienne: I have no fucking idea what I'm doing`

`Brienne: also do you have any idea how hard it is not to curse all day?`

`Margaery: CALM DOWN. It's not like you killed the kid. `

`Brienne: But I didn't KNOW.`

`Brienne: Maybe I need to buy some books on childcare or something`

`Margaery: not everything requires a book. giving the kid a bath isn't rocket science.`

`Brienne: Right. I can do this.`

 

 

`Margaery: so, how was bath time?`

`Brienne: Tommen is a pretty big fan of rubber duckies and bubbles`

`Margaery: sounds promising`

`Brienne: I didn't realize that I would basically end up getting a bath of my own outside the tub`

`Margaery: ???`

`Brienne: so much splashing. I am drenched. `

`Margaery: I think that's normal.`

`Brienne: I think there might be bubbles in my ear.`

`Margaery: possibly less normal`

`Brienne: but I didn't flood the bathroom or anything. and he didn't get soap in his eye. I didn't blind him.`

`Margaery: See? you're practically an expert already`

`Brienne: Was I an idiot to think I could be a nanny? What do I know about kids?`

`Margaery: Is this about Hyle? Because fuck that loser.`

`Brienne: what? why would it be about him?`

`Margaery: Um, I don't know. Maybe the part where he said that as much as he liked you as a friend, he didn't see you as marriage material? That he didn't want to have kids with you?`

`Brienne: ok, yeah, let's just go through that again`

`Margaery: It's been awhile.`

`Brienne: like 2 years. `

`Margaery: see? you've been apart for as long as you were together. The cycle is now complete and you can start over.`

`Brienne: I don't think that's how that works`

`Margaery: I think you will make a wonderful wife and mother someday if that is what you want, and those kids are lucky to have you in the meantime. `

`Brienne: you have to say that`

`Margaery: um, no I don't.`

`Margaery: Remember that time you tried to make moussaka? I told you it was terrible.`

`Brienne: oh god, don't remind me. That was awful. I have never tried to make anything greek other than salad since.`

`Margaery: and remember when you chopped off all your hair after the Hyle thing?`

`Brienne: you said it looked terrible. You said it looked like I did it myself with a pair of kitchen shears.`

`Margaery: It did. But I realize that was kind of the point, now.`

`Margaery: But I'm not lying, Brie. those kids are lucky to have someone like you. Take it from someone who was raised by a series of nannies with varying degrees of compassion.`

`Brienne: yeah?`

`Margaery: yeah.`

`Margaery: now go read that kid the most kick-ass bedtime story ever`

 

 

`Brienne: can I just say how fucking annoying “Goodnight, Moon” is when you have to read it several times a week? How did my parents survive this?`

`Margaery: You know, I’m going to raid Garlan’s kid’s old nursery and find you some new material.`

`Brienne: you cannot steal children’s books from your older brother `

`Brienne: he and his wife could have more children`

`Margaery: they’ve done a pretty shitty job with this one, so I’m fairly sure that’s not happening`

`Brienne: OMG YOU CANNOT SAY THINGS LIKE THAT`

`Brienne: WHAT IF PEOPLE SAY THAT ABOUT ME AND THESE KIDS AND THEY AREN’T EVEN MINE`

`Margaery: You might need to start drinking more if you can’t calm down about this`

`Brienne: Pretty sure becoming an alcoholic won’t make me a better nanny…`

`Margaery: ehhhh, I’d say it’s debatable.`


	7. Brienne and Tyrion Discuss Nepotism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Tyrion discuss the family businesses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know--it's a been awhile. But I am a full-time grad student, and my work load has grown pretty intense. Chapter updates will not be as frequent as with Living Fiction, I'm afraid.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

She found Tyrion in the library, hunched over his anachronistically sleek laptop.

“Okay, I figured you’d run a background check on me before letting me near the kids or into this house. But I didn’t expect it to be so specific as to include my preferred brand of liquor.”

She dangled the bottle of bourbon from her hand. She had found it sitting on her dresser after dinner, and considering only one other person in this house was old enough to purchase alcohol…

He leaned back in his seat. “My head of security is very good at what he does.”

“I gotta say, I don’t think this makes me feel safe.”

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that I in fact only knew that you prefer bourbon or whiskey, and that I simply selected a brand my brother likes without knowing it was your usual?”

She blinked. “Surely your brother can afford better than this?”

Tyrion laughed. “For special occasions, certainly. But there’s no need to throw money away on fancy alcohol when that’s perfectly good.”

 

He pulled two glass tumblers out of the shelving unit behind him and set them on the desk, motioning for her to come over. She poured a glass for each of them and sat down, clinking her glass to his.

“I must say, I found it curious that you don’t list any experience at Evenstar Antiques on your resumé. Surely your father has had you help out.”

She let out a short laugh. She had assumed that Evenstar would come up in a background check, but she hadn't expected to Tyrion to bring it up. “Some people don’t react kindly to perceived nepotism. They assume that I don’t actually do anything useful because I work for my father. It’s usually easier to leave it off.”

“Really, if there’s anyone in this city who can’t afford to disparage nepotism, it’s a Lannister.”

“When I applied I didn’t know that a Lannister would be reading my application. Frankly, I assumed you would have an assistant handle it.”

“Good point. I confess, I did have my assistant and head of security vet the applications before handing me a short list. We had more than a few tabloid freelancers try to apply in the hopes of getting an exposé on the Lannister family. But I will not be distracted! Evenstar.”

“It’s been in my dad’s family for generations. He grew up working in the store, as did I. Nowadays, he travels around, making acquisitions, searching out pieces for clients. Goodwin, my godfather, runs the day-to-day operations in the shop. Dad is great with wood pieces and furniture, but I’m the go-to for art, books, and jewelry. I love my father, but dear lord, he has the most abominable taste in jewelry.”

“In my experience, most men do.”

“You would know, of course.”

“So how does it work? You have clients who come to you with requests?”

“Usually. They come to us when they need birthday or anniversary presents. I’ve done a few engagement rings. Housewarming gifts, or just redecorating apartments. Sometimes we have clients who collect certain things, so we’re always on the lookout for items they might want. One guy collects early printings of Dickens, another client likes Art Nouveau prints. Sometimes people just come into the store and buy stock, of course, but that's mostly Goodwin's responsibility.”

“And you enjoy doing it?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of like a treasure hunt all the time. Looking for the perfect thing for a certain person— there are so many factors to consider and they change with every commission. And it's usually nice to work with Goodwin and Dad.”

Tyrion snorted. “Well at least it works for you, kid.”

She tilted her head and eyed him more closely. “If you hadn’t had Casterly, what would you have done? If you could do anything in the world?”

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass and stared at the surface of the desk. “Honestly, I’d probably be doing the same thing somewhere else. Much as I like to complain, I’m good with numbers. I’m good at finance. Working for my father isn’t ideal, and he’s a terrible boss, but this is what I’m good at.”

“What about your brother?”

He sighed and took a drink. “Jaime had even less of a choice than I did. I think we both tried not to think about it. It hurts more when you acknowledge that there _could_ be an alternative. But I doubt Jaime would have wanted to be the COO of a fine jewelry corporation, all things considered. What about you?”

“There were two places growing up that always made me feel safe: my _nonna_ ’s kitchen, and Evenstar. I’m not a good enough cook to become a professional chef. But I always found something comforting about old things, things that other people had loved—and objects have never been cruel the way people can be.” She took a sip of bourbon, felt it burn down her throat. “If my father hadn’t owned an antiques shop, who knows what I’d have wound up doing. But I've always had a choice.”


	8. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne meets another nanny at the park. Jaime arrives home.

Since it was Friday afternoon and her first week as their nanny had been relatively successful, Brienne took the kids to one of the playgrounds in Central Park after Myrcella got out of kindergarten.

She was posted on one of the surrounding benches, amongst a whole host of other nannies while the kids played. Some of the other nannies were reading books or staring at their cellphones, but Brienne was still paranoid enough that she kept her eyes on the blonde curls zooming around in front of her. As such, she saw the precise moment that Tommen missed a rung on the ladder by a scant half inch, and felt her stomach seize up and nearly drop through the ground as he fell.

Myrcella jumped down next to him instantly, examining his scraped elbow with all the sobriety of a medical professional before escorting him to where Brienne sat on the bench. Tommen was crying (out loud, for once, she couldn’t help but notice) so she rummaged out a pack of tissues from her backpack. She was continuing a desperate search for antibiotic ointment or a stray bandaid when she felt a tap on her arm.

“Here. Take some of mine.”

Wild red hair, freckles, Scottish accent. Holding out a handful of bandaids and a tube of Neosporin.

“Oh my god, thank you.”

Brienne took the supplies and set about bandaging Tommen’s elbow while Myrcella and the redhead supervised. She dutifully wiped the snot from his nose and the tears from his cheeks with one of the tissues, before giving the children leave to go back to playing.

 

The redhead spoke back up. “You must be new at this, huh?”

Brienne nodded and held out a hand. “First week. My name’s Brienne.”

The redhead gave her hand a firm shake. “Ygritte.” She inclined her head towards the playground. “The new nannies always keep close watch, but they don’t know that you have to be prepared for anything. It’s amazing what kids can get themselves into.”

Myrcella was already escorting a somewhat dazed Tommen over to the swings, chattering away with no expectation of a response.

“So, Ygritte. Have you been a nanny for long?”

“About six months now. I was working at the Natural History Museum on a grant, but the funding ran out before the project was over…” She shrugged. “I’ve been joking that I should start keeping a field journal, change my specialty to child development: 'Peace keeping and political machinations on playgrounds,' 'The social significance of exchanging those colorful zoomorphic rubber bracelets.'”

Brienne laughed. “Anthropology, I’m guessing.”

“You’d be right. How about you?”

“Art History. I did one of those combined five year programs to get an MA, but it ended up taking an extra semester because they fired the only professor who taught the class I needed to graduate on time…”

Ygritte shook her head. “Academia. I’ve seen children with better conflict resolution skills.”

“No argument here. So which one is yours?”

She motioned towards a little blonde boy climbing the miniature rock wall. “Tobin Rayder. His dad worked at the museum, took pity on me. His wife, Val, runs some sort of consulting business out of the house, so they were grateful to have someone take Toby out of it during the day. He saw some internet video of a guy doing parkour about a month ago— I’ve gone through three boxes of bandages so far. What about yours?”

“Tommen and Myrcella Baratheon. Luckily neither of them have discovered parkour.”

“Try to keep it that way." She stood and picked up a faded Jansport from the bench. "Wish me luck as I try to escort the wee devil back home without him leaping atop every fire hydrant on Fifth Avenue.”

“Good luck.”

 

 

 

 

Jaime was exhausted.

He had managed to catch an earlier connecting flight from Heathrow to JFK, so at least he wasn’t getting in after midnight, as originally planned, but there was something about airports and the stale air on planes that sucked the life out of him. He had texted Tyrion from the town car to let him know he was back in town, but his little brother had been dragged off on some business dinner since father was in the Hamptons and Jaime hadn’t been available. He had assured Jaime that the nanny and the kids would be the only ones home when he made it into the city.

The nanny… He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that Tyrion had actually hired someone without Jaime’s input. On the one hand, it had been kind of a dick move leaving the country so Tyrion had to take care of Tommen and Myrcella alone. And Tyrion was a master of efficiency, so if anyone was capable of hiring a nanny in the two and half weeks Jaime had been gone, it would be him. But when Jaime asked Tyrion point-blank he had admitted that the girl had basically no childcare experience. She had good grades, and Tyrion thought she was 'trustworthy', but Jaime could not fathom why his brother had decided she was the ideal candidate.

_Please, God, tell me he didn’t hire some pretty little thing that he has a crush on._

 

 

 

“Tommen!”

She was laughing, even though she knew she was probably encouraging troublesome behavior by doing it. He cupped another handful of bubbles and brought them up to his face, blowing hard enough to send them flying at Brienne’s face and t-shirt, which was already soaking wet. Truth be told, it was good to see him grin, even if he did look completely devious at the moment. She plopped a handful of suds on top of his head in mild retaliation, carefully positioning them so they couldn’t slide into his eyes.

Myrcella wandered in the door of the bathroom holding her favorite stuffed unicorn and started giggling. “Miss Brienne, you have bubbles on your nose.”

Brienne sighed and swiped a hand over her nose, sending Tommen a sideways glance that caused him to giggle along with his sister. “Alright, you. I think we’ve had enough of the bubbles for tonight.” He started to pout, his lower lip comically extended. “No pouting. Once we’re both dry, I’ll read you a story before bed.”

She started the tub draining, and helped Tommen out of the tub and into his fancy little bathrobe/towel combo. It had a hood that looked like a lion’s face, which she used to tousle his hair. She almost found the thing charming, but also a little bizarre-it looked like the boy was being eaten by a cartoon lion when you put the hood over his face.

“Myrcella, why don’t you help Tommen into his pajamas while I go change into dry clothes?” She plucked at the fabric of her shirt, trying to get it to stop sticking to her clammy skin. Myrcella nodded and pulled Tommen out of the bathroom by the hand, skipping down the hall. Brienne dragged a washcloth over her face to get the last of the soap suds off her nose and headed in the opposite direction down the hall, towards her room. She started to pull the shirt over her head as she walked but came to an abrupt stop when she registered a pair of men’s shoes on the carpet in front of her.

_Those are not Tyrion’s feet._

_Or his shoes._

She yanked the hem of her shirt back down, cursing internally at the flush creeping across her face and chest.

“I must say, I’m not accustomed to being greeted with a strip-tease when I come home, but it isn’t entirely unwelcome.”

She couldn’t quite bring herself to look him in the eye, or indeed anywhere above the knees. There was a black rolling suitcase at his side. Which must mean… Jaime Lannister. She barely stopped an embarrassed groan from escaping.

_Fuck. Me._

“I—I thought that no one else was home. You weren’t supposed to get in until after midnight.”

“Sorry to inconvenience you; I caught an earlier flight. Care to explain what you’re doing stripping in the hallway?”

She plucked at the wet cotton of her t-shirt, which was getting colder by the minute, and fought a shiver. “I was giving Tommen his bath and he splashed me a little bit.” At some point she had managed to raise her eyes from his jeans, to his black sweater, and up to his face.

He was smirking and raised a single brow. “Considering you look like a cast-off from Noah’s Ark, I’d say it was more than a bit.”

She refused to laugh and instead made an impatient gesture with her hands. “Yes, well. I’m getting quite cold, so if you don’t mind…”

He laughed. “Oh, you’d like me to get out of your way now? I thought we might continue with the show. You were just getting to the good part.”

She could feel her eyes dart back down to safety of the carpet and begin to trace the intricate patterning. “If you don’t mind, I really need to get changed and get the kids to bed soon. You should go say hi to them, I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.”

He seemed almost annoyed for some reason as he stepped to one side and motioned for her to pass.

Finally in the privacy of her room, she changed into a dry sweatshirt and grabbed her cell phone.

 

`Brienne: How dare you`

`Margaery: What did I do this time?`

`Brienne: Why didn’t you warn me he’s pretty? You know I get all tongue-tied and stupid around pretty people.`

`Margaery: Who?`

`Brienne: DON’T FEIGN IGNORANCE WITH ME, MARGAERY TYRELL. I KNOW THAT OLENNA HAS A COMPREHENSIVE BINDER OF ALL THE ELIGIBLE BACHELORS NEAR YOUR AGE ON THE EAST COAST.`

`Margaery: That doesn’t mean there are pictures`

`Brienne: YOU SHOWED IT TO ME`

`Margaery: Damn, I forgot about that. So you met Jaime Lannister then?`

`Brienne: Uh, I guess you could say that`

`Margaery:…that is not meant to be a trick question`

`Brienne: I nearly ran into him while taking off my shirt`

`Brienne: he made several strip-tease jokes`

`Margaery: sounds promising`

`Brienne: NO IT SOUNDS HUMILIATINGLY AWKWARD`

`Margaery: Did he see your bra?`

`Brienne: WHAT?!`

`Margaery: I’m just saying.`

`Margaery: Were you wearing one? I know that sometimes you don’t because you don’t have to, but it _is_ cold outside, so…`

`Brienne: yes. and yes.`

`Margaery: So he saw it?`

`Brienne: if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to jump out the window now`

`Margaery: Don’t be silly, the houses off the park are nowhere near high enough for that to be effective. You’d be lucky if you managed a sprained ankle.`

`Margaery: Were you wearing a real bra or a sports bra?`

`Brienne: real`

`Margaery: any lace?`

`Brienne: it was plain black, Marge. I work around kids, I’m not wandering around the playground in La Perla.`

`Margaery: hmmmmm. not too shabby.`

`Brienne: what does that mean?`

`Margaery: I’m not abandoning the possibility of us marrying a certain set of brothers and becoming sisters-in-law`

`Brienne: THAT IS NOT A POSSIBILITY. YOU CAN’T EVEN ABANDON IT, IT IS SO FAR OUT OF THE REALM OF POSSIBILITY THAT IT COULDN'T HAVE BEEN ONE.`

`Margaery: has anyone ever told you that for someone who’s normally so reserved in person you use an awful lot of caps lock?`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photoset: http://pepperpottsplots.tumblr.com/post/111790660077/the-nanny-by-archetype-electraheart


	9. 99 Miles an Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 99 miles an hour, baby, is how fast that I like to go.  
> Can't keep up with my rhythm though they keep trying.  
> The Walker - Fitz and the Tantrums

Kids are dressed: check

Including socks and shoes: check

Myrcella’s hair is done (braided pigtails, per request): check

Teeth are brushed: check

Am I dressed? Brienne glanced down. Oversized sweater, jeans…slippers.

“Myrcella, why don’t you take Tommen down to the kitchen and I’ll be there in one minute.”

“Okay! Can I have nutella on my toast this morning?”

“Sure thing. Now go on, go ahead…”

She jogged back down the hall to her room and rummaged through the sock drawer, wondering how it was possible that none of them matched. “I do not have time for this.” She pulled on one green polka dot and one blue argyle sock, hopping clumsily from foot to foot, and shoved her feet into the pair of Doc Martens by the door.

 

She swung around the corner into the kitchen, barely avoiding a collision with Ser Pounce, and headed straight for the toaster.

“Morning, Brienne.”

“Morning, Tyrion.” Bread in. She grabbed a jar of nutella out the pantry.

“Have you met Jaime yet? He got in last night.”

Two glasses of milk poured and set on the breakfast bar. “Um, yeah. I ran into him last night when I was putting the kids to bed.”

Myrcella clambered up onto her usual stool and Brienne walked around the island the help Tommen onto his. “Tommen, what do you want on your toast this morning? Nutella?” She held up one finger. “Or peanut butter?” She held up two fingers with her other hand.

He held up two fingers.

“Peanut butter it is, little man.” God, she could really use some coffee, but they were already running late.

“So what did you think of him?”

“Who?” She swapped out slices of toast for fresh bread and reached for a knife.

“Jaime.”

“Oh, right.” She slid Myrcella’s breakfast across the island. “He seemed…extroverted.”

Tyrion started laughing so hard he had to put down his mug of tea. She glanced at it enviously. _You can have caffeine after Myrcie gets to school. And breakfast._

“I’m sure my brother will be thrilled to hear he made such an impression on you.”

She haphazardly spread peanut butter on Tommen’s toast and placed it in front of him, sucking the extra peanut butter off of her finger. “Tyrion, we barely spoke; I probably only saw the guy for five minutes.”

“And yet most women would have said he was handsome, not extroverted.”

She shrugged distractedly and glanced at her watch. 8 minutes to get out the front door. “Well, I guess I’m not most women. Five minutes, guys.”

She really needed to work on braiding hair more efficiently. Or they would have to wake up earlier. Or she could just sleep in her clothes, that would save at least five minutes every morning…

Dear lord, she was losing her mind.

“Aren’t you going to eat something?”

She actually looked at Tyrion for the first time that morning, noting the bemused concern and amusement flitting across his face. “No time. I’ll grab something after Myrcie gets to school.”

“Miss Jeyne says we’re going to make crafts today.”

“Really? How exciting.” The last time they had done crafts Myrcella had shed glitter for what felt like days. At least both children had finished their breakfasts. “Okay, kids, into the front hall. You know the drill. Say good bye to Uncle Tyrion.”

She lifted Tommen down off of his stool as he waved.

“Bye, Uncle Tyrion!”

 

Coats: check

Gloves: check

Hats: check.

Myrcella’s Backpack: check.

My bag…. She whirled around, and spotted it on the floor a few feet away. A quick glance inside to confirm that her wallet and keys were there: check.

“Off we go!”

 

Myrcella had been safely handed off to Miss Jeyne, on time, and now Brienne and Tommen were standing in line at the Starbucks around the corner. Her stomach had started growling loudly five minutes earlier and Tommen kept glancing up at her with wide, concerned eyes, like he worried that she might faint if she didn’t eat soon. Little did he know how long she could go like this. Grad school had taught her her own limits.

She felt her phone vibrate in her pants pocket and pulled it out.

`Tyrion: so how bad was Jaime last night, really?`

`Brienne: I don’t know what you’re talking about`

`Tyrion: you may be too nice to bad mouth him in front of the kids but I can sense when someone is avoiding answering my questions`

`Brienne: I was not avoiding, I was making breakfast. we were running late`

`Tyrion: if you don’t tell me I will just ask him`

`Brienne: how is that a threat?`

`Tyrion: ok, if you don’t tell me then I will assume the worst`

`Brienne: which is what, exactly?`

`Tyrion: on a scale of 1-10 on the bad first impressions scale, Jaime scored a 10`

`Brienne: that’s a bit extreme`

`Tyrion: ???`

She paid for her coffee and picked up a juice box for Tommen.

`Brienne: look it was all just a misunderstanding, I’m sure. don’t worry about it`

`Tyrion: fine, you leave me no choice. `

`Brienne: seriously would you just drop it? everything is fine`

 

 

Jaime looked up as his brother walked into his office, cell phone in hand.

“Explain.”

“Explain what?”

“Why Brienne will not talk about you.”

“The nanny? I have no idea.”

Tyrion sat in the chair across from him and rolled his eyes. “Of course you do, you just don’t want to say it because I’ll probably end up calling you an asshole.”

“Look, she just wasn’t exactly what I expected.”

“Meaning?” Tyrion raised a single eyebrow.

“I assumed that you must have hired some pretty little thing—eye candy, or something—because she sounded so under-qualified.”

“You think so little of me?”

It was Jaime’s turn to lift a brow in challenge.

“Point taken. But what did you actually do?”

“I didn’t _do_ anything! I walked into the house and she was taking off her shirt in the hallway. Something about Tommen splashing her during bath time. Her shirt was soaking wet, she was going to change it.”

Tyrion groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “Oh my god, you _were_ a total asshole weren’t you?”

“Just because she had no sense of humor about the whole thing—“ Tyrion groaned even louder. “I mean really, I can’t believe she went running to you to complain—“

“Stop. Right there. She did not ‘come running to me to complain.’ As I already said, she didn’t want to say anything about it and told me to drop it. The only thing she actually said about you was that you were _extroverted_. But because I know you, I can fill in what both of you aren’t saying. Jaime. She is our employee. She could sue you for sexual harassment and probably win and you've been in the house less than 24 hours.”

Jaime started to protest but Tyrion held up a hand to stop him. “Did you use any form of innuendo or imply that she provide you with sexual favors in any way, shape, or form?”

The back of Jaime's neck started to warm from guilt and he pulled at his tie. “I didn’t mean it like that, Tyrion, you know that.”

“Jaime. Brienne is a good person. I don’t think she would even complain unless you did something truly egregious, but she doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit. I mean it. Please do not make me lecture you again. It makes me feel uncomfortably similar to father and that’s not good for my health.”


	10. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne learns a little more about Cersei. Tommen has a nightmare.

It was late, and both kids were in bed. Brienne was sitting in the living room with her laptop on her lap, google on the screen and her hands hovering over the keyboard.

_It’s not really any of my business. Except that I’m taking care of her children. Living with her brothers. And it isn’t exactly a secret. It was in the news, and if I hadn’t been buried in research I would already know the whole story._

Brienne typed her name into the search bar with exaggerated care, one letter at a time, but couldn’t seem to bring herself to press enter. She was practically choking with guilt.

“Is there a reason you’re looking at your computer like the two of you just accidentally killed someone?”

Brienne looked up to see Tyrion standing in the doorway, one eyebrow raised.

“Um….” She exited out of the window.

Tyrion walked in and sat across from her. “What is it?"

She shook her head, blond strands brushing her cheeks. "It was nothing, really. I was just curious..."

"Let me guess: Cersei?”

She nodded, reluctantly.

“If you’d rather, I can just tell you.”

“If you wouldn’t mind…”

He settled back into the couch cushions, both eyes dark. “Apparently she thought that if she poisoned Robert slowly everyone would assume he had a heart attack. Only it was so slow that Robert thought he was sick and went to the doctor. The doctor ran some tests. Robert was dead before they had the results, but…”

“Evidence.”

Tyrion nodded.

“Why? Why kill him?”

“He drank too much. Sometimes he hit her— never hard enough to break anything, never consistently- not that I’m defending him, but it was difficult to prove. He also had a tendency to have unprotected sex with prostitutes.”

Brienne chewed on her lower lip, thinking. “Did he give her an STI?”

A single nod. “Cersei was two months pregnant at the time.”

Brienne pressed a hand to her mouth, nausea building. “Please tell me she didn't-”

“She miscarried. And the doctors told her that as a result, it was unlikely she would be able to have any more children. Cersei…was a lot of terrible things, but she loved those kids. She was a fiercely devoted mother; I think the miscarriage broke her. Her rage took care of the rest.”

Brienne sank back into the couch cushions and closed her eyes. “How much do the kids know?”

“More than they should at their age. Not enough to understand any of it.”

She met Tyrion's gaze head on. “That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

He shrugged. “They know that their Dad died, they know it was their Mom’s fault. They know that they’re both gone now. Beyond that, who knows how much they picked up on?”

 

 

 

 

Brienne had only been asleep for an hour or so when the screaming started. 

“No— stop! Please, no, stop. Mommy!”

Without even thinking she bolted out of her bed, swung around the door frame and ran down the hall to Tommen’s room. He was tossing and turning, tangled in blankets, with sweat-soaked hair. Still calling for his mother.

“Tommen.” She sat on the bed next to him, wincing slightly as he kicked and hit her in his sleep. “Tommen, it’s ok. You’re safe.” She gently placed a hand on his shoulder, tried to quiet the movements of his body. “Tommen, sweetie, wake up. It’s ok. Shhhhh.”

His eyes suddenly opened, wide and glazed, tear tracks racing over his plump cheeks. “Shhhh, you’re alright. Everything is ok.” She wiped the tears off his cheeks and swept damp strands of hair back from his forehead, but he sat up and wrapped his small arms low around her waist and started crying into her stomach. She held him, and ran her fingers through his hair.

She did what she could, but she knew why he was crying: he wanted his mother, and Brienne wasn’t her. Brienne could soothe, but she couldn’t give him what he wanted. There had been nights after her mother had died when she had done the same thing to her father— only now did she understand how helpless he must have felt. She blinked back a few tears of her own and ignored the uncomfortable sensation of damp cotton rubbing against her stomach.

“I know you miss her, Tommen. And I know you miss your Dad. And it’s okay to miss both of them. Your mom may have done a bad thing, but it's okay if you still love her." She could feel his hands tighten their grip on her waist. "And it’s okay to be sad. If you don’t want to talk to anyone, then you don’t have to. I promise, Tommen, that I will not make you speak until you are ready.” He had finally pulled back to look at her, and wiped his runny nose with the sleeve of his pajamas. Sad and small and so very young.

“Now go back to bed.”

He shook his head a little and pulled at her sleeve when she started to get up.

“Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?”

A nod.

She stood and straightened out the covers on his bed, waiting until he had wiggled back down and found a comfortable position before sitting next to him. 

“Sweet dreams, Tommen.”

 

 

 

Jaime blamed the jet lag. How else could he have confused Tommen’s cries for Myrcella's? 

 

He had woken up in a daze and ran down to Myrcella’s room, only to find her peacefully asleep. No nightmares, no crying.

He had redirected to Tommen’s room, but too late. The nanny was already sitting on his bed, holding him, murmuring softly as she stroked his hair. 

It should have been him. Not her. She barely knew Tommen. Jaime had known Tommen for his entire life. He had been at the hospital the day the boy was born.

And that was why he couldn’t understand how he got it wrong.

 

 Whether he was Tommen’s uncle or his father (and he wasn’t sure, still, which was the truth) he should have been able to identify the sound of his voice. He should have been there for Tommen. Not Brienne Tarth, the nanny who had moved in a little over a week ago.

But then again, Jaime had never been very good at being there for the people who needed him.

Some things never changed.


	11. Fake It Til You Make It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne, Margaery, and Arya discuss early morning runs, extreme caffeine consumption, and explosions.  
> Jaime and Brienne butt heads over decorative art semantics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the last chapter was kind of angsty for the general tone of this fic, I felt I owed you all some lighter material.
> 
> Gentle reminder that Jaime has not seen Brienne's resumé, and only Tyrion knows the details of her education, etc.

`Brienne: If you want to see investment bankers out of their suits apparently you just have to go running in central park before 7am. just thought you might appreciate that piece of information.`

`Margaery: please tell me you were not running in the park that early`

`Brienne: it’s the only time I have! unless I go after the kids go to bed and it's safer in the mornings.`

`Brienne: I hate myself already`

`Brienne: how much caffeine can you consume before it kills you?`

`Margaery: hold on, I’m bringing in the expert`

`Margaery: Arya, how much caffeine can you consume before it kills you?`

`Arya: pretty sure they proved that as long as it's coffee/tea you can’t drink it fast enough for it to cause death. deal’s off with energy shots tho`

`Arya: ...why?`

`Brienne: I’ve had to start going for runs at 5:00 am.`

`Arya: that’s fucked up`

`Brienne: IT’S THE ONLY TIME I HAVE`

`Brienne: sorry. still waiting for the coffee to kick in`

`Brienne: so. moving on. what’s up with you? how’s boston?`

`Arya: good. but my lab partner in chem is a dick`

`Margaery: how so?`

`Arya: he thinks he’s better than me but he’s really stupid! last week when he didn’t listen to me he nearly blew up the lab`

`Brienne: idiot.`

`Arya: ikr`

`Margaery: what is the idiot’s name?`

`Arya: Gendry.`

`Margaery: is he hot?`

`Arya: i guess. for an idiot.`

`Brienne: that’s my girl`

`Arya: ne way gtg. there's a guest lecture on anthrax. can't miss it. ttyl`

 

* * *

 

`Margaery: does it ever worry you that one of our best friends wants to make a living studying poisons?`

`Brienne: eh. we all have our skill sets`

`Margaery: so how are things going with the hot lannister brother?`

`Brienne: *rolls eyes*`

`Brienne: imagine a near exact transcription of arya's discussion of her lab partner, minus the potential explosion`

`Margaery: hot idiot who thinks he's smarter than you?`

`Brienne: pretty much`

`Margaery: isn't that just your type?`

`Brienne: fuck. you.`

`Margaery: oh i wish you would`

`Brienne: I hate it when you do that!`

`Margaery: I know. but you always make it so easy.` 

* * *

 

  

Jaime walked into the house after a hellish day at the office to find the nanny staring intently at the sideboard in the front hallway, a book hanging limply from one hand. 

“Are you admiring the furniture?”

She hummed, not shifting her gaze. “I was…”

There was something in her tone of voice that seemed odd… “You _were_. As in past tense?”

Brienne finally straightened up and looked in his direction, although her gaze was still slightly unfocused. Days and weeks of frustration, plus jet lag, had left him with a short fuse, and Jaime found himself unreasonably irked by her. _Slow_ , he thought. Slow to speak, slow to focus.

And if there was one thing Jaime Lannister had been taught to value from a young age it was speed.

“You do realize that’s an authentic seventeenth-century piece?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Well it’s supposed to look like one, anyway.” 

That was the last answer he had expected. "What exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?"

She pointed at the decorative metal hardware on the surface of the sideboard. “There are screw-heads visible in the ormolu mounts.”

He had no idea why that was supposed to be significant. He wasn’t even sure what language she was speaking at this point. “So?”

“So seventeenth-century ormolu never has visible screws like these. It's not possible. It’s more likely that this is a nineteenth-century revival piece. British, if I had to guess.”

“You’re trying to say that it’s a _fake_?” 

She grimaced. “I’m saying it isn’t seventeenth century. But it is still a lovely piece, and the craftsmanship is of exceptionally high quality.”

Jaime barely heard her. His father would be livid if he found out that the _help_ had realized one of his prized antiques was a fake. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Why? Did you buy it or something?”

“No, it's been in the family for ages.”

She sounded perplexed. “Well if no one’s noticed before, I don't see what the-”

“Exactly! It's the principle of the thing. I cannot believe the _nanny_ just waltzed over and…”

Something in his expression must have given him away, because her eyes turned frosty and he could actually see the muscles in her jaw tighten. “Let me guess, now you’re hoping that since I’m _just_ the nanny, that I might be wrong.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Google it, then. Or if you’d prefer, I can lend you a few books that might help. I am _just_ the nanny, after all.” 

She whirled around and stomped up the stairs, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like _insufferable arrogant jerkwad_ , leaving Jaime scowling at the offending piece of furniture.

It had only been a few days and already the nanny was convinced he was nothing but a lecherous, elitist asshole.

_Tyrion is so going to yell at me for this when he finds out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **the signature Brienne Tarth eye roll is a nod to the masterpiece that is ikkiM's [Stannis Baratheon, Fantasy Football League Commissioner](http://archiveofourown.org/series/120591) series. If you haven't read it, GO. You will laugh to the point of tears and stomach aches.
> 
>  There are in fact two photosets for this chapter:
> 
> http://pepperpottsplots.tumblr.com/post/114867891702/the-nanny-by-archetypeelectraheart-fake-it-til
> 
> and 
> 
> http://pepperpottsplots.tumblr.com/post/114412669997/the-nanny-by-archetypeelectraheartfake-it-til-you


	12. Anything You Can Do...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Brienne's night off and Jaime is charge of making dinner.  
> The brothers discuss the definition of hubris; Myrcella attempts to text; a recipe is shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of few chapters that is conducted almost entirely via text, since everyone is in a different location, and it's probably edging into crack!territory. But charmingly so, I think (hope).

`Jaime: I asked the kids what they want for dinner and myrcie asked for brienne’s brussel sprouts?`  
`Tyrion: roasted or salad?`  
`Jaime: the fuck?`  
`Tyrion: just ask M.`  
`Jaime: she says salad.`  
`Tyrion: in that case tell her she can have it tomorrow when B's working and make them mac and cheese or something.`  
`Jaime: I can make a fucking salad`  
`Jaime: what’s in it?`  
`Tyrion: idk man. there is no recipe and I’ve never seen her make it`  
`Jaime: give me something to work with here`  
`Tyrion: you have to slice the brussel sprouts really thin`  
`Jaime: how do I cook them though?`  
`Tyrion: It’s a salad you fucktard`  
`Jaime: ?`  
`Tyrion: you don’t cook them. you slice them raw`  
`Jaime: weird. what else?`  
`Tyrion: garlic, probably. she puts garlic in everything`  
`Tyrion: then there’s this vinaigrette. with dijon mustard.`  
`Jaime: sliced brussel sprouts, garlic, and dijon mustard? that’s it?`  
`Tyrion: well you need some kind of oil to make the dressing. But I don’t know what else she uses`  
`Jaime: I can do this`  
`Tyrion: for the love of god, just get take out`  
`Jaime: If myrcie wants some fuckin weird brussel sprout salad I will make one`  
`Tyrion: this is gonna be good`

 

 `Jaime: she says it doesn’t taste right.`  
`Tyrion: I warned you this would happen`  
`Tyrion: just text Brienne and ask her how to make it`  
`Jaime: NO`  
`Jaime: I can do this`

 

 

`Jaime: Did you seriously order a pizza and have it delivered to the house?`  
`Tyrion: I’m not letting the kids starve because you have some weird thing about the nanny`  
`Jaime: I do not have some weird ‘thing’ about the nanny`  
`Tyrion: ok fine. I’m not letting the kids starve because of your hubris`  
`Jaime: the fuck. this is not english class`  
`Tyrion: Do you even know what hubris is?`  
`Jaime: I’m not an idiot. I read Oedipus. And Macbeth.`  
`Tyrion: Not an answer.`  
`Jaime: excessive pride in oneself which generally leads to your own downfall`  
`Tyrion: shiiiiiiit bro`  
`Tyrion: you actually do have some brain cells left`

 

 

`Jaime: B? this is myrcella. can you maek yur salad tomoro?`  
`Brienne: Myrcie? Why are you texting me from Jaime’s phone?`  
`Jaime: he lefted it on the tabel. He tryed to maek yur salad but it didnt taste vry good`  
`Jaime: uncle Tyrion ordred a pizza.`  
`Brienne: I promise I will make the salad tomorrow and I will write down the recipe for your Uncle Jaime. Now please give him back his phone.`  
`Jaime: k`

 

 

`Brienne: You should probably keep a closer eye on your phone. Myrcella just texted me.`  
`Jaime: Seriously?`  
`Jaime: Ok, yeah I see that.`  
`Jaime: that’s ok spelling for someone her age right?`  
`Brienne: I think so? I’m not actually an expert on six year olds`  
`Brienne: Is there a reason you couldn’t just ask how to make the salad?`  
`Jaime: It’s your night off. Didn’t want to bother you.`

 

 

`Margaery: who are you texting?`  
`Brienne: you are sitting across the table from me, why don’t you just ask?`  
`Margaery: because I’m trying not to let Renly know that neither of us are paying attention to his latest tirade about Stannis`  
`Brienne: Myrcella texted me`  
`Margaery: she is in kindergarten, why does she have a phone?`  
`Brienne: she doesn't, she took her uncle’s phone`  
`Margaery: is anything wrong?`  
`Brienne: she just wants me to make my brussel sprout salad tomorrow. Apparently Jaime tried and it wasn’t right`  
`Margaery: ugh I love your brussel sprout salad. Can I come over for dinner tomorrow?`  
`Brienne: that might be weird`  
`Margaery: what? why? kids love me`

  
`Loras: Bri, what are you and marge texting about?`  
`Brienne: is ANYONE actually listening to Ren?`  
`Loras: I've already heard this story three times`  
`Margaery: brussel sprout salad`  
`Loras: oh, you mean Brienne’s magical salad that converts everyone into sprout lovers?`  
`Brienne: I don’t understand how this happened. I never set out to make people sprout devotees`  
`Loras: does it work on kids too?`  
`Margaery: apparently`  
`Loras: I’m gonna start calling it World Peace Salad`  
`Brienne: *listening to Renly now*`

 

 

For Jaime—

Brussel Sprout Salad

1\. Make the dressing: olive oil, dijon mustard, lemon juice, 1 clove minced garlic, honey, salt. Whisk together. (as a guide, aim for a 4:2:2:1 ratio  of oil to mustard to lemon to honey)

2\. Slice raw brussel sprouts very thinly 

[Be sure to rinse off the sprouts thoroughly in cold water— even the ones from Trader Joe’s that say they’re ready to eat. There is always dirt.]

3\. Pour dressing over sprouts and garlic

4\. Mix in generous amount of grated parmesan cheese

5\. Toss thoroughly

  

 

`Jaime: you neglected to tell me she puts cheese in that damn salad. and honey?!`  
`Jaime: I WAS SO CLOSE`  
`Tyrion: I told you I didn’t know what was in there`  
`Tyrion: I take it she gave you the recipe`  
`Jaime: She wrote it down and stuck it to the side of the fridge`  
`Jaime: somebody wrote World Peace Salad over the top in purple marker. the handwriting is different`  
`Tyrion: Her friend Margaery came over the other day. maybe it was her.`  
`Jaime: is the salad seriously that good?`  
`Tyrion: You would have known if you had come home for dinner on Sunday. `  
`Tyrion: I am embarrassed to say I had a craving for it last week`  
`Jaime: you hate brussel sprouts. you hate green vegetables`  
`Tyrion: I KNOW that’s what's embarrassing `  
`Jaime: I don’t believe you. I gotta make this shit.`

 

`Jaime: Update: I made the world peace salad`  
`Tyrion: And?`  
`Jaime: It’s weirdly delicious. `  
`Tyrion: told you so`

 

 

 

Brienne walked into the kitchen to find Jaime hunched over a large plastic bowl, fork in hand, sheepish expression on his face.

He nodded his head towards the bowl in his hand. “I made your salad.” She nodded politely. “It’s really good, actually.”

“Thanks.”

He pulled an extra fork out of the drawer behind him and proffered the bowl. She smiled and took a bite.

“Your own recipe?”

“Kind of. My mom loved brussel sprouts, and she made this brussel sprout salad a lot, but she never wrote down the recipe— always claimed it was some kind of family secret. She craved it when she was pregnant with me, and Dad says they went through like five cups of brussel sprouts a week. He never quite figured out what the recipe was, but after Mom died I was determined to recreate it. This was as close as I could get.”

“So why is it called World Peace Salad?”

She shook her head. “Loras’s idea. I guess he thinks that if it’s powerful enough to convert sprout-haters and get kids to eat their vegetables it might be able to achieve world peace. But he’s always had a flair for the dramatic.”

"I don't know. You got Tyrion to willingly eat a green vegetable. I don't think that's happened in at least five years. Your friend might be on to something."

She rolled her eyes but Jaime saw the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

"Well don't tell him that. His ego is already dangerously inflated and doesn't need the boost."

"My lips are sealed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **disclaimer: like the characters in this chapter, I am not an expert on six year olds and have no idea how one would text**


	13. Can't Live With Them...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brienne realizes she isn't quite free of Evenstar and she and Tyrion have a heart-to-heart. Jaime nearly ruins bedtime stories and, as usual, has no boundaries.

From: selwyn@evenstar.com  
To: brienne@evenstar.com  
CC: goodwin@evenstar.com  
  
Subject: Martell

Oberyn Martell just called about a birthday present for Doran and requested that Brienne handle it, as usual. We have about a month.  
The flea in Montauk was a bust. I'll see you in a few days.

 

  
From: brienne@evenstar.com  
To: selwyn@evenstar.com  
CC: goodwin@evenstar.com

Subject: Re: Martell

Dad, I do have a full-time job now. You can’t just tell people that I’ll handle commissions, especially time-sensitive ones, without checking first. I don’t even know that my current employers would be okay with me moonlighting.

 

 

From: selwyn@evenstar.com  
To: brienne@evenstar.com  
CC: goodwin@evenstar.com

Subject: Re: Re: Martell

B, you’re watching children, not nuclear warheads. You could probably get this done during their nap time.  
And no one knows Doran’s tastes like you do. Come on, a favor for the old man? 

 

 

From: brienne@evenstar.com  
To: goodwin@evenstar.com

Subject: YOU PROMISED

You said that you were going to explain to dad that I couldn’t work my usual case load because I have a actual job now where they pay me a regular salary. What happened?

 

 

From: goodwin@evenstar.com  
To: brienne@evenstar.com

Subject: Re: YOU PROMISED

I discussed it with your father several times, but you know how stubborn he is. Just talk to your new boss about it. He sounds very nice; I’m sure he won’t mind. And your dad’s right, you DO normally handle the Martells. Last time I talked to Oberyn I couldn’t even tell if he was hitting on me or not and it was distracting. I couldn't tell where the innuendo stopped and the business began.  
I'll admit, the nuclear warhead comment was slightly insensitive, and I’ll talk to your dad about it.

 

 

From: brienne@evenstar.com  
To: goodwin@evenstar.com

Subject: Re: Re: YOU PROMISED

Never did I think I would have to do a job for two grown men because they can’t handle the fact that someone MIGHT be flirting with them. Honestly, Oberyn Martell flirts with anything that moves. You just have to learn not to take it personally.  
Tyrion says that as long it doesn’t interfere with my normal responsibilities here, I am allowed to continue to help out the family business. DO NOT say that to Dad because he will take advantage and give me everything he doesn't feel like doing himself. If the man needs to hire another employee to keep the shop running without me there full-time then he needs to do it. But I’ll keep my regulars. WITH VETO POWER if I think I won't have time. 

 

 

 

  
She was in the library, absentmindedly scrolling through Facebook when Tyrion wandered in and sat down at the desk.

“Come here and have a drink with me, Brienne. I need one, and I’d prefer not to do it alone.”

She closed her laptop and strolled over to the desk, sitting down and accepting a tumbler of whiskey without comment. Truth be told, she needed a drink too after watching some inane children’s movie about a fairy that turned into a pirate so she could steal fairy dust.

“Let’s see…what should I ask you about this evening?”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t realize I was submitting myself to the Inquisition.”

“What? Is it so wrong for me to want to know more about the person I’ve allowed to live in this house and take care of my legal dependents?”

“You sound like a Dickens villain right now.”

He feigned offense and took a sip of his scotch. “Just for that I’m going to ask you something mean. Ex-boyfriends?”

She couldn’t quite decide whether to snort, laugh, or sigh. “Singular. Although I’m not really sure he counts.”

“What, did you not date for long?”

“Almost two years, actually.”

He let out a low whistle. “That is universally accepted as a legitimate relationship. Why wouldn’t it count?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. You are going to have to pull out the good stuff if you want that story.”

Without a word he pulled out a bottle of high-end whiskey and poured her a fresh glass, setting it directly in front of her. She scowled at him, but could tell he wasn’t go to let the subject go, so she downed the remainder of her first glass in one gulp.

“His name was Hyle. We went to college together. He was from Virginia—the suburbs of DC, really. Studying political science, which should have been my first warning sign, no doubt. We started dating my sophomore year, broke up senior year.” She took a sip of her second glass, looked up at the ceiling. “That was when I found out that he had only asked me out in the first place because it was some kind of pledge-hazing for his fraternity. Hyle was rushing as a sophomore, so they said that, in order to prove that he really wanted it, he would have to date me for six months.”

“Which is despicable, but he stayed with you for two years. There must have been some reason.”

She shrugged, brought her gaze back down to meet Tyrion’s. “We got along well, I guess. We didn’t do much in the way of normal ‘couple stuff’. Mostly we just ordered Chinese food and sat around doing our work in each other’s rooms. But it was nice to know that you always had a date for Friday night, or that if you had a terrible day someone was there to make you a cup of tea and listen to you vent about it. We were comfortable with each other, and frankly I think he was just too embarrassed to tell me the truth. Until he found a girl he actually  _wanted_  to date.”

“What did you do when you found out?”

She grimaced. “I chopped off all my hair and refused to speak to him for over a month.”

“Is that why?…” He gestured towards her hair, which had only just grown past her jawline—somewhere in between short and long, with a no man’s land of empty space between the choppy, rough ends and her shoulders. A length that the Cool Girls of uptown could convincingly pull off, but that no one would believe was intentional on her.

“Yeah. My hair doesn’t grow all that quickly, and when I said I chopped it all off, I really meant it.”

“So that was what, nearly two years ago? And you haven’t dated anyone since?”

She was beginning to feel the looseness in her shoulders from the alcohol, felt it loosen her tongue as well. “It’s not like I have guys lining up for the privilege of dating me. And to be frank, I wasn’t all that interested. Most guys are jerks." 

"Hey, that's not entirely fair. I gave you a job, didn't I?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "Yeah, which if I'm being honest doesn't make sense. You could have hired someone with way more experience. Why me?"

"For one, you weren't just doing it for the money, no matter how much you wanted me to believe that. People who need money can always be bought, it's just a matter of offering the right price. So I figured you wouldn't be tempted by a tabloid offering money for dirt on the family. Particularly because in your family's line of work you can't afford to burn bridges to families in this social circle." He took a sip of his whiskey, tilted his head. "The kids liked you, I liked you. I felt like I could trust you. It wasn't perhaps the most logical decision, but I took a gamble on you, Brienne Tarth. Luckily for me, it seems to be paying off."

"I'm not so sure your brother would agree with that statement."

"Who, Jaime?"

Brienne shrugged. "I don't get the impression that he likes me all that much."

"Jaime's natural inclination is to be an asshole to new people. Try not to take it too personally. He'll come around."

 

 

 

 

 

As Jaime wandered by Tommen’s room on his way to brush his teeth, he heard Brienne’s low voice quietly reading something aloud:

> “…when he was in Tivoli as a young man, he and three friends set out to paint part of the landscape, all four firmly resolved not to deviate from nature by a hair’s-breadth; and although the subject was the same, and each quite creditably reproduced what his eyes had seen, the result was four totally different pictures….”

_That has got to be the weirdest fucking bedtime story I have ever heard_. He shrugged and continued down the hall to the bathroom.

 

Only when he started back down the hall towards his room the story sounded even worse. It was so bad he found he couldn’t continue past the doorway.

> “As is well known, satin was a favorite subject of Terborch’s, and he painted it specially well. It seems as if the fine material could not look otherwise than it is shown here, yet it is only the artist’s innate distinction which speaks to us in his forms, and even Metsu saw the phenomenon of these fold-formations essentially differently—“

 Finally, Jaime could take no more. What did this crazy woman think she was doing reading to Tommen about satin?

He walked in and poked her hard in the shoulder, trying not to make a sound since Tommen looked so close to sleep. She scowled at him and beat his hand away, glancing at Tommen and continuing to murmur from her book. She held Jaime at bay with one stiff arm, glancing up at Tommen every few lines, until the boy’s jaw had gone slack and his favorite lion stuffed animal slipped ever so slightly from his loosened grasp. 

Then she stood up, grabbed Jaime (rather forcefully, he might add) by the arm and dragged him into the hall, paradoxically managing to close the door behind her with only the softest snick. He started to speak, but her eyes nearly bugged out of her head and she smacked a hand over his mouth, using it to push him down the hall away from Tommen’s room. When Jaime felt this rather bizarre interlude had gone on long enough he darted his tongue out to touch her palm, causing her to shriek and pull her hand away in disgust, wiping it on the shoulder of his shirt before dis-attaching from him altogether.

“What is your problem?”

“My problem?! What the hell are you reading to Tommen?”

He could tell she was only barely resisting the urge to smack him over the head with the paperback in her hand. “It’s Wolffin’s  _Principles of Art History_.”

“He is four years old. Why can’t you just read him  _Goodnight, Moon_  like a normal person?”

She held up an index finger and brandished it in the space between them so forcefully he thought she might stab him in the chest. “I can’t take that book anymore. I just cannot read that book one more time.”

He could sort of understand that. “That doesn’t mean you should be reading him some weird thing that is clearly not designed for children!”

She sighed and waved the book around. “I tried reading him normal bedtime stories but he was always staying awake to hear the ending, and then once he heard the ending he wanted me to read it again, or he wanted me to read some other story. So I figured if I read him things that he wouldn’t be able to understand, he wouldn’t be interested. This stuff used to put me to sleep if I read it too late as a college student. I figured it would be fool-proof with a four year old. So I start with a normal story, but when it's really time for him to go to sleep I read this stuff.”

Jaime cocked his head to one side and thought about it. It made a strange sort of sense. And Tommen had fallen asleep pretty quickly…“So it works?”

“Like a charm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! 
> 
> My semester is ratcheting up and the next few weeks look *terrifying* so updates will be sparse, since I won't have much time to write. As a treat, I combined two chapters for you this time and ended with some actual JB interaction (there was even tongue action, even though I know it's not quite what you had in mind).
> 
> Any and all positive vibes, encouraging messages, and/or bad jokes are welcome in the ask box on tumblr (pepperpottsplots) in the meantime. XOXO.


	14. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A broken toy and superglue. What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a glue metaphor while talking to Mikki about this fic, which led to an idea about actual glue...and this is what happened.

Somehow, a mere thirty seconds after Myrcella entered her room to put her pajamas on, chaos erupted.

A thump, the sound of shattering, crashing glass, and then the piercing wail of an inconsolable child.

Brienne jogged down the hall, mentally cursing, and opened to door to find Myrcella, pajama shirt half-on, kneeling next to her dresser. Her favorite ceramic ballerina lay in pieces on the floor.

Brienne yelped as Myrcella reached out a hand to try and pick up one jagged-edged remnant. “No, Myrcie! Don’t touch it.” That only made her cry even louder.

Her face was nearly scarlet, and she was taking huge, gulping, wet breaths through her sobs. “It’s ruined!”

Brienne made her way around the fragments and picked Myrcella up off the floor, putting her back down far enough away from the shards that she couldn't cut up her feet. “Hush now, it’s all right. There’s no need to be so upset.”

“Mommy gave it to me for Christmas and now she’s gone and I broke it!”

“It’s okay, Myrcella. Stop crying.” Desperate to get the girl to calm down, Brienne found herself blurting out, “I’ll fix it.”

“No, you can’t. Look at it! It’s RUINED!”

“Shhh, Myrcie, of course I can fix it.” Brienne knelt down so she could look the girl in the eye. “With enough time and superglue, just about anything can be fixed. I will fix your ballerina. Okay?”

That seemed to calm her slightly, and Myrcella looked at Brienne through tear-swollen eyes. “You promise?”

 _God, you are such a sucker for tears_. “Yes, Myrcie; I promise. Now why you don’t you go wash your face while I clean up in here, okay?”

Myrcella nodded and trudged out of the room, wiping her nose with one sleeve and heaving a world-weary sigh.

Tyrion appeared in the doorway as Brienne began plucking bits of ceramic off the floor and placing them on a coloring book. “What was that all about?”

“Myrcie broke her ballerina.”

He let out a whistle. “How did you get her to calm down?”

“I promised to fix it.”

They both looked at the carnage on the floor, dozens of tiny shards, all of which were nearly uniform in color.

“You promised to put _that_ back together again.”

Brienne groaned and rolled her eyes. “I know. You don’t have to say it.”

“You are an idiot. And I’m not helping you.”

 

Brienne breezed into Evenstar the next morning with Tommen in tow. “Goodwin! Good morning.”

“Brienne! And Tommen, what a lovely surprise.” He bussed both her cheeks. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“We had an incident at the house last night, and I have a very small, very broken figurine to puzzle back together. I came for supplies.”

“Why don’t you go on in back then; I can keep an eye on Tommen for a few minutes.”

“Thanks, G.”

Brienne wove her way around the antiques on the shop floor and pushed through the door into the back offices, hanging a sharp left in front of her Dad’s usual desk and heading for the workroom where they did small restorations on-site. She dug through a bin of assorted adhesives, bypassing several kinds of wood glue and plucking out the best superglue for the job. She then pulled the smallest paintbrush from a jar on the sawhorse under the window. As an afterthought, she grabbed a few sets of latex gloves and shoved everything in her tote bag.

By the time she was back out in the regular shop, Goodwin was showing an antique globe to Tommen and explaining very seriously all of the ways in which it was incorrect and out of date while the boy looked on, brow furrowed as if in serious thought.

Or perhaps he was just confused.

“Goodwin, I don’t think Tommen is quite ready to hear about the dissolution of the USSR or the creation of South Sudan. He’s only four.”

“It is never too early to start learning. Isn’t that right, Tommen?”

He nodded, ever eager to please.

“Well, I believe Tommen’s geography lesson is done for today, because I promised him a visit to the sea lions at Central Park Zoo when we were done here.”

  

The ballerina had become the stuff of nightmares.

For four nights Brienne had been trying to put Myrcella’s figurine back together, making agonizingly, painstakingly slow progress. She was now so close that she couldn’t bring herself to go to sleep, carefully rubbing grit from her eyes with the back of her wrists, avoiding any contact with latex gloves and superglue.

Five more pieces. Five more pieces and it would be done, and she could go to sleep, and Myrcella would stop asking when her ballerina would be better.

And then Brienne never wanted to see that cursed figurine ever again.

 

 

Brienne walked downstairs slightly later than normal, having chosen to forego her morning run in light of her foolishly late night playing toy surgeon. She had managed to grab less than four hours of sleep, and was desperate for a cup of a coffee. She turned the corner into the kitchen to find Jaime with a crumpled ball of newspaper in one hand and the ballerina in the other, a shell-shocked expression on his face.

Oh no. No _fucking_ way.

He slowly met her increasingly furious gaze. “I’m stuck.” He looked from one hand to the other, wiggling his fingers futilely. “I just wanted to make breakfast.”

Brienne gave a frustrated roll of her eyes. “I’m going to kill you. I spent hours glueing that thing back together and you just have to go pick it up for NO reason and get it STUCK to your hand.” She stomped over and looked at his hands.

He was clearly beginning to panic. “But how do I get this stuff OFF?”

“You can just stick the newspaper hand in soapy water. After it soaks for a while it should come off fairly easily. I’d like the ballerina to dry a little more before submerging her in water, and I might need some nail polish remover to get it off. Do you guys have any?”

“Nail polish remover? Until you moved in, this house was populated by adult males and two small children. What do you think?”

“Fine then, I’ll have to go to Duane Reade and get some. Unless you have some other form of acetone lying around here.”

“No, we do not have toxic chemicals just hanging out in a closet somewhere.” He gestured frantically towards the sink. “Do you think you could do the soapy water thing before you leave?”

She glared at him.

“Please?”

She sighed and started to fill the sink with warm water, squirting a generous amount of dish soap in. She grabbed her bag off of the kitchen table and headed out. “I should be back in just a couple of minutes. And so help me, if you re-break that figurine, I will end you.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t talk to one of your employers like that.”

“Try that again when you start signing my paychecks, Jaime.”

 

 

By the time Brienne had returned from Duane Reade with acetone-based nail polish remover and a pack of q-tips, Tyrion had joined Jaime in the kitchen.

“You absolute moron, Jaime. Brienne has been supergluing that terror back together for days now, and you decide to pick it up for easier access to the sugar?”

“I didn’t realize the glue would still be wet! I thought that superglue dried really quickly.” He was still holding his left hand in the sink.

“Have you even tried to get the newspaper off of your hand yet?”

“I was waiting for you, Brienne, since you seem to be the expert. That, and the fact that my other hand is useless at the moment.”

“Brienne, since you have to take care of Jaime this morning, I’ll go get the kids dressed and take them out to breakfast.”

She nodded and started unpacking supplies. “Thanks, Tyrion.”

“So, just out of curiosity, am I going to be injured in any way during this removal process? Like, am I going to lose the top three layers of skin off of my hands or something?”

Brienne shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

She watched as his eyes widened and darted between his hands in concern. “I was joking. It should be fine, but I’ll have to go slowly if I don’t want to hurt you.”

A lewd smirk slowly spread across his face. “That’s what she said.”

Brienne threw both hands up in the air with a groan and started to walk out of the kitchen.

“No! Come back! I won’t make any more jokes, I swear. I’ll be silent as a mouse.”

She turned around to face him, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah right.”

“Ok, the second part probably won’t happen. But I can try really, really hard to keep the first promise.”

She walked back over to stand in front of him and held out her hand. “Give me the newspaper hand.”

“Are you sure it’s ready? Maybe it needs to soak some more.”

She sighed. “Do you have to be so uncooperative?”

With a sheepish grin, he finally pulled his hand out of the sink, dripping water all over the floor and her feet in the process.

In response to her glare he simply smiled and said, “You asked me to take my hand out of the sink.”

Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of riling her any further, she purposefully turned her attention to his hand and begin picking away at the wad of sodden newspaper. When there was only a thin layer left on the surface of his hand, she pulled an old gift card out of her wallet and started scraping at the edges as Jaime squirmed.

“Would you please hold still? I am trying not to flay your hand.”

“It tickles.”

“Well as long as it doesn’t hurt, I’ll assume I’m doing alright.”

She poured nail polish remover onto a cotton ball and daubed over the stubborn patches on his hand, alternating between scraping with the card and applying more acetone until his hand was clean.

“Have you done this before or something?”

She looked up, startled by how close his face was to hers, and moved back to rinse off her hands. “On a much smaller scale, yes. But I’ve never had to get quite this much superglue off of someone before.”

She turned a skeptical glance towards the ballerina figurine, still attached to his fingers and sighed. Now for the hard part.

She lost track of how long she spent with an acetone-soaked q-tip prodding at the edges of the ballerina and slowly dissolving the glue holding it to Jaime’s hand. He was remarkably quiet, considering his normal tendency to chatter on.

“Your eyes are really incredibly blue.”

Startled, she looked up. “What?”

“Your eyes. Do you wear colored contacts?”

“Oh. No, they’re just like that.”

An awkward silence fell over the two of them.

"It should only take another couple of minutes. Before your hand is free, I mean."

"Right, great. Sounds good."


End file.
